Part 9

Major Radclyffe in his letter referred to above writes: “I have seen a grouse ripped open from its tail to its neck.”

Captain Portal says: “I have examined hundreds of game-birds killed by hawks, and have always found the marks of the two hind talons or one of them.”

Sometimes, no doubt, as in the instance referred to by Mr. Speedy, there is a bruise along the spine and the skin is not torn, but this is no doubt to be explained, as is pointed out by a writer cited below, by the way in which a falcon shuts its feet when stooping, the hind talon on each foot closing over the fore talons, thus forming a kind of keel--and the bone on the back of the grouse is strong enough to prevent more than a severe bruise.

Mr. Speedy continues:

“It is argued that it is impossible the bird could be killed by a blow from a hawk’s wing, as the wing would certainly be injured. I have seen a retriever stunned by a blow from the wing of a swan, and but for my being in close proximity in a boat it would certainly have been drowned. Those who have put their hand into the nest of a wood-pigeon are familiar with the blow even a half-fledged bird can give with its wing. I have been struck with the fight a wounded wild goose can put up, and the blows it can inflict on a retriever with its powerful wings.”

But, with all respect, surely the blow of a large powerful bird like a swan or a goose delivered in this way is a very different thing to the blow which is delivered by a peregrine when stooping at its quarry at the terrific speed with which it then flies, and, in my opinion, the view taken by experienced falconers, such as those quoted above, that the wing would most certainly be broken or badly injured, is the correct one.

Finally, Mr. Speedy says:

“When a falcon strikes a bird in the air there is a loud ‘clap’ which I have heard several hundred yards away. This would not be the case if struck by the talons.”

I venture to think, however, that the argument based on the sound caused by the impact carries Mr. Speedy’s contention no further. Would not this loud “clap” naturally be expected if the peregrine struck its quarry in the manner described?

In conclusion, then, what is the correct view of the matter? In the words of a recent writer:[29] “The truth ... seems to be that the falcon shuts its feet when stooping, the hind talon on each foot closing over the fore talons, thus forming a kind of keel. When the falcon strikes a grouse, the latter may be partially or wholly decapitated, or it may be severely bruised on the back. The neck of a grouse is soft, and the ‘keel’ of a peregrine’s hind talon is sufficiently sharp to cut it, whereas on the back of a grouse the bone is strong enough to prevent more than a severe bruise. The shock of impact must, however, be tremendous, for a bird so struck hurtles to the ground at once. When the peregrine strikes, one hears a loud ‘clap’ audible at a considerable distance, and it is this noise that has given rise to the theory that the falcon strikes with its wing. If the peregrine used the latter, however, in all probability the wing would be seriously damaged or broken, because the pace at which a falcon stoops must be seen to be believed.”

There is another interesting fact in regard to this fine bird which is not generally known. There seems little doubt that he deserves the description which has more than once been applied to him--that of a wanton murderer. Thus Charles St. John in his classic work, _Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands_, says (chap. x.): “The peregrine seems often to strike down birds for his amusement, and I have seen one knock down and kill two rooks, who were unlucky enough to cross his flight, without taking the trouble to look at them after they fell.”

XII

INSTANCES OF WOUNDED STAGS ATTACKING STALKERS

It must often have occurred to every one who has had experience in stalking what a very different sport stalking would be if stags realised their power and had no fear of man. It is, of course, well known to every one who is interested in the habits of deer that a tame stag in the rutting season is one of the most dangerous animals, and some years ago a tragedy occurred in Ross-shire, when a stalker was attacked and killed by a stag which he had himself brought down from the forest as a calf and which knew him well. I have often asked experienced stalkers whether they have ever known an unwounded stag attack a man, but with one exception I have never heard of any such case.

The one instance to the contrary is that given by Mr. Frank Wallace in his delightful book, _Stalks Abroad_. In describing his stalking in New Zealand, Mr. Wallace gives what he describes as the only really well-authenticated instance which he can vouch for of a wild stag attacking a man, and adds that most likely the darkness and time of year had something to do with the stag’s boldness. He thus describes the incident: “It was dark by the time B. and his guide reached the river-bed, which at the point they struck it is very wide. They had scrambled along over the boulders and rocks with which their course was strewn for some distance, when they saw a dark object lying on the stones in front of them. This presently resolved itself into a sleeping stag, who, hearing them approach, jumped up and disappeared. They had not seen the last of him, however, for a little later they encountered him again, apparently very annoyed at having been aroused from his beauty sleep and determined to wreak vengeance on some one. Seeing them, he seemed to think they would be suitable objects on which to make a start, and advanced with lowered head. B. threw a stone and hit it in the flank; but this had no effect, and the animal advanced a few paces nearer and stood swaying its head from side to side a few inches off the ground. As some one had to go and the stag seemed disposed to give no quarter, B. fired a shot, but without effect. The stag still advanced, until a second shot took him in the chest and finished him off. I saw him the next day where he had fallen. He had a small head of six points, and was obviously a young beast.”

There are no doubt rare instances of a wounded stag attempting to attack a man.[30] I myself have never known such an instance, and, although I have often asked old stalkers whether they have ever known of anything of the kind, I have only once met with any one who has had such a personal experience. The head stalker of a well-known forest recently told me that on two occasions he had known of wounded stags attacking a man. The story of his experiences interested me so much that I asked him to write it down in his own words. This he did, and the account he sent me was as follows:

“I enclose here a long detail about the only time I happened to see wounded stags attacking. You will find it a long story, but it so impressed itself on my mind I could not help giving the movements of each day in full. Twice in my experience of twenty-four years I have seen a wounded stag attacking a man. The first happened on September 25, 1902, when I was stalking with Mr. A. In our start in the morning to the first spying place we usually on the way moved some hinds, but did not trouble about this, as seldom stags were seen so low down till October and stormy weather came. But this morning, when near the spying place, what was my surprise to see to our right lying on a flat, mossy bank a fine big stag with ten points. He did not see us, and we were preparing to stalk him when some of the hinds we moved passed a little beyond and carried him away, so we sat down and kept our glasses on them for a long distance till they settled and began to feed, but the stag kept on walking slowly and climbing till he went out of sight over the ridge beyond. We had to make a long detour to get past the hinds, and when we got to the top and spied we found our stag some two miles away lying with a few small stags close to the march in a position fairly easy to stalk if he waited for about half an hour. We at once dipped down into the corrie at his right and moved along till opposite him. We then climbed till within 80 yards; he was still lying, so Mr. A. came to the conclusion to take him before getting up in case he would lose him on the march. Mr. A. fired, and hit high near the spine. The stag got up, but fell without making a step. I ran up to bleed him, and, crossing below, I noticed his head up again, and hurried up, when he made a straight bolt at me. With a quick jump to one side, I got clear of his head by a few inches. He toppled down the face and fell in a hollow. I think it was then he broke his back, as he could only raise his forepart. I called on Mr. A. to come up and finish him, as he was a dangerous beast. When he came in sight to one side and raised the rifle the stag half turned towards him and gave a loud, defiant roar, which was cut short by a bullet through the neck. He weighed 18 st. 2 lb.; the head had a wide span and long, but the horn was rather thin and smooth, which showed he was past his prime. Whether he roared because he could not manage to get at the man or with fright when he saw the rifle it is hard to guess, but I remember thinking how like his roar was to the roar of two stags at each other on opposite sides of a corrie.

“The second time was in 1907, about October 1st. This season we got some heavy stags on my beat. The heaviest was 20 st. 5 lb., and Mr. B., with whom I was then stalking, was keen to make a record average weight. One day we were spying near the far end of the beat, and saw a stag travelling on to our ground. At first we could not make out what he was, until he joined a bunch of hinds and showed us his broadside, when at once we saw he was a fine big beast, and, although neither of us said so, I believe we both thought at the time it was bigger than our 20-stoner. The day was getting late, and it was hard to stalk him where he was, and so near the march, if a failure, so we left him in peace, hoping for favourable wind and weather next day. Next morning we were early on the move and over the tops at best pace till we came to the spying point. We saw the same stag and hinds on the same face, but lower down, and, if anything, harder to get at. We went round the top of the corrie to get straight above them. The place was a green steep face without a particle of cover, but fine and smooth to slide down at a steady, flat crawl. When within 300 yards I raised my head up to spy out the best way. What did I see right in our path and under a small bank, and not over five yards away, but a small knobber! To pass to either side without him seeing us was impossible. I turned to Mr. B. and asked him what he proposed we should do, but got no answer, and I then said I would pitch a small stone to make him move somewhere. I saw Mr. B. nodded assent. Then, after having a look to study the little stag’s position, I lowered down and pitched a stone on a guess, when I heard a sharp click like as if I hit him on the horn. He got sharply up and ran down at a terrific pace towards the near hinds, and they ran for a short distance down, when they suddenly all stopped and began to look sharply up towards us. I may admit I got palpitation, and from what I heard at my back I was getting no praise for my aim. Then we noticed the big stag, which was lying below and on the far side, rise, and, giving a loud roar, he made straight for the knobber, and drove him out and up towards us. But the little fellow got round him, and ran again into the hinds with the big stag in hot pursuit. The big stag drove him down and across the river, which was the march. He stood on the bank and gave a parting grunt, and then began to drive his hinds up towards us. We at once began to crawl slowly down so as to get the cover of a small hump that was between us, which we managed to do in good time and get the rifle ready, for shortly we saw the first of the hinds appearing about fifteen yards to our left. They at once noticed us, but as we were then turned into two stones they only shied off a little and moved slowly uphill, except one, which began to circle round to get into our wind. I kept my eye on her to see when she would give the alarm, when we were to move over the hump and chance the stag being within shot. But before anything happened I felt a touch from Mr. B., and, looking round, saw the top of the big stag’s horns appearing quite close. When he noticed us he stood with a ferocious look towards us. Mr. B. quickly took aim and fired. I saw the blood gushing from the stag’s throat, low, and near his foreleg. He staggered and fell. Mr. B. getting up suddenly threw his rifle down and ran over to bleed him. I went to pick up the rifle, and then, turning to have a look at our trophy, lo! there was the stag up and Mr. B. holding on firmly to both horns, his arms well out and rigged and kept well back close to his shoulders, the stag giving nasty digs and always trying to get into him. I saw at once that things were not looking well, so I loaded the rifle so as to disable the stag by shooting him through the haunches. When I stepped near for fear of accident they began of a sudden a merry go round and round, so fast that I dare not shoot. They went round and round six or seven times. I saw something would have to be done quickly, so, putting the rifle away, I stepped close and plunged in on the opposite side, taking hold of his horns, so with the weight of 30 st. between us we pulled the noble brute down, when Mr. B. managed to put the knife into his throat.

“Now this stag was losing a lot of blood all the time, and must have been losing his strength, which I consider saved us, and in my opinion the stag was keener to get into the man than to get away, for I noticed he always circled towards him. Mr. B., as a rule, always bled his own stags, and this time, after taking hold of the horn to bleed him, the stag got up suddenly, and Mr. B. stuck to him, and then Mr. B. found he could not safely let him go, as he saw at once the stag would turn on him if he got the least chance. He said to me after it was all over, ‘That was a very near thing,’ and so it certainly was.”

My friend Vincent Balfour-Browne has reminded me that the latter instance of a wounded stag attacking a man is similar in some respects to Charles St. John’s thrilling story of the Muckle Hart of Ben More in his _Wild Sports and Natural History of the Highlands_, in which case, to use Balfour-Browne’s words, the stag was certainly keener to get into the man than to get away.

XIII

TRAPPED

I never hear any one mention Spring-Tide without thinking of an experience which I had whilst duck-shooting on the north-west coast of Scotland.

On the afternoon of a certain autumn day I went out to try to shoot wild duck, the plan being that I should be landed with my gun and spaniel on a rocky islet in a certain sea loch, and that I should wait, taking what cover I could amongst the rocks, whilst the boat from which I was landed should be rowed up to the head of the loch in order to flush the wild duck of which there were always numbers there at that time of the year. It was known that on being disturbed the duck would fly down the loch towards the open sea, and some of them would probably cross the rocks on which I was waiting.

It was a fairly quiet though misty day when we set out, but there were clouds gathering in the east, and it looked as if there would be a storm before long. In due course I was landed on the little island, which was quite small and consisted of low-lying rocks. I said to my old fisherman, who with another man was rowing the boat, “Are you sure that these rocks are never covered by the sea?” and he replied, “Ach, no, it is arl richt.”

Away went the boat, and in it besides the two men rowing were an old friend of mine, who was a cautious Scot, and two ladies.

Not long after it was out of sight the wind rose and rain began to fall. After a time some duck passed out of shot, then a single bird which I killed, then after another interval a big lot well out of shot, and then at intervals two single birds, one of which I brought down. The spaniel had enough to do to retrieve the birds with the strong tide and high wind. Just after this a storm of wind and rain swept down the loch, and the sea became very wild. I was still thinking about the duck, but felt no anxiety after what the old fisherman had said. After a time, however, I began to feel some apprehension, as the tide was rising very rapidly and there was only a comparatively small part of the island uncovered. I thought I had better make up my mind as to which was the highest point on the island, and particularly where I should have the best chance of retaining my footing if the sea rose much higher. I selected what seemed to be the best place for this purpose, with some short rocks in front of me, and took up my stand peering into the mist from time to time for a sight of the boat and hoping every moment to see it. There was now so small a part of the island uncovered that I was getting very wet from the waves, which were breaking with some force, and my dog was very excited, barking and whining and making a great fuss.

Things were becoming very serious, and I could see that unless the tide turned within a few minutes the rocks would be covered. The water rose so high and so rapidly that I was now standing in water and the ducks I had shot were washed away. Still no sign of the boat, and the tide still rising.

The waves by this time were breaking over the rocks, and for a few moments I was thoroughly alarmed, as I realised that if the tide rose a little higher I should probably be washed off, and though I could swim I had no reasonable hope of being able in that sea to swim the considerable distance which separated me from the mainland. However, the feeling of fear was very short, and was followed by a grim determination to hold on for all I was worth, and, strange as it seemed to me afterwards, a pleasurable excitement in what I realised was going to be a desperate effort to keep my footing. There were very few points of the rock left uncovered now, and the tide was still rising, when suddenly out of the mist I saw the boat coming, rising and falling in the angry sea.

To cut a long story short, it was a most dangerous and difficult job to take me off the rocks without upsetting the boat, but it was managed all right by the two men, the older of whom was a very experienced seaman. In less than three minutes after they got me off, the point of rock that I had been on was covered and there was nothing of the island to be seen.

My friend, to whom I shall be ever grateful, declares that he saved my life, and this I think was the fact, for when the wind got up he insisted on the men going back to the island at once, feeling very nervous on my account, and they had a tremendous pull to get back in time as the sea was very rough and the tide was running strongly against them.

The cause of the rocks being covered by the sea--a very rare occurrence--was an unusually high spring tide coupled with a strong gale from the opposite direction, which made the waves much higher than they would otherwise have been in a loch which has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous lochs on the west coast for squalls.

XIV

THE LAST STALK OF THE SEASON

It was the last day of the stalking season in the forest of Fealar, where it had been my good fortune to spend the first ten days of October. I had been out stalking for eight days, during two of which I did not get a shot, but, with the exception of the preceding day, which had been a black Friday for me, I had been very lucky, having shot eight stags, and three of these I had stalked without the aid of a stalker, which had added greatly to my pleasure. But it was a melancholy fact that the last day had arrived, and what had it in store for us? On the preceding day I had had a series of misfortunes, and when I got up and looked out of my bedroom window the prospect was not a cheery one. A thick mist enveloped everything all round the lodge, which is one of the highest, if not the highest, of all the shooting lodges in the Highlands, 1764 ft. above the level of the sea. On coming down to breakfast my host said to me, “Well, I don’t think it is any use going out to-day. What do you say?” But I knew quite well that my host, one of the keenest and best of sportsmen, was only poking fun at me on this the last day of the season. By ten o’clock the mist had slightly lifted. There was a steady drizzle; the high tops were still covered; the wind was east to south-east--the wrong wind for this forest--and the prospect was certainly not inviting. However, we determined to make a start, and I was sent out on the beat of the head stalker, Macdougall. We had not gone more than a mile from the lodge when we saw a shootable stag with some hinds, and after a stalk up a burn and a considerable crawl over a peaty bog, we got to a point within shot of them. Macdougall was just getting the rifle out of its cover when something disturbed the deer, and away they went. Macdougall said he thought I must have shown myself, though I was not conscious of having done so. At any rate, I had succeeded in getting wet through in my efforts to keep flat and out of sight.

The weather continued thoroughly unsatisfactory. It was impossible to spy, and for the following hour we saw nothing. About the end of that time it cleared up a little, and we spied about a mile off a large herd of deer, between 200 and 300, and amongst them what appeared to be some very fine stags. We had to make a long détour, and then, by walking and crawling along the side of a burn, we succeeded in getting within what we thought must be a very short distance of some of the stags, judging from the sound of their roaring. We crawled up the bank of the burn, and found ourselves within about 200 yards of one end of the herd, where there was a fine 10-pointer continually on the move, rounding up the hinds. Macdougall said he thought we could get in much nearer by going back into the burn and crawling further up it. This we did, and then, after crawling a little way up the side of the hill, we got to within 100 yards of the 10-pointer. Almost immediately after I had got the rifle into my hands the stag, which had been perpetually on the move, stood for a moment broadside on, giving me a splendid chance. I fired, and the stag bounded forward a few paces, and then fell dead. He had a fine, regular head of ten points, certainly the best head I had obtained this season, although I had been fortunate in shooting a good many stags. It was by this time just twelve o’clock. Macdougall said we had better have lunch in order to allow the deer to settle down, and added that he did not think they would go very far. He said he was quite sure that there were at least other two very fine stags amongst the deer that had gone forward.

The stag was soon gralloched, and the gillie was sent back for the pony. We did not take long over lunch, and then set off in the direction in which the deer had gone, being guided by the perpetual roaring of the stags. After going some little distance we located the deer on the face of a hill rather less than two miles from us. Though there was still a drizzle and the light was bad, the wind had risen, and the mist had to some extent cleared from the lower ground.